


Keeping Quiet

by citoyenprouvaire



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citoyenprouvaire/pseuds/citoyenprouvaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre barely notices it when Jehan leaves his room to join him in the living room, curling up in a nest made of pillows and blankets on the couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting fic for the Les Mis fandom, hopefully it's not too bad!  
> Many thanks to my wonderful beta [Erika](http://chiefguideandcenter.tumblr.com). All remaining mistakes are my own.

It’s late. Combeferre knows it’s late because he has set his phone to go off every hour to remind him to stick to his carefully laid out study plan, designed with the purpose of making sure that he covers all of the topics he needs to review for his test in the morning. If he sticks to it with no distractions, he’ll be done by six in the morning, with enough time left to shower, eat something and arrive at the university before the clock strikes eight. He is well prepared for the exam already, but graduating _summa cum laude_ from medical school isn’t an easy feat, and will take some extra effort.

At some point after two in the morning – and two mugs full of coffee - he gets up from his desk, where he spent most of the afternoon hunched over books and human anatomy diagrams, and starts pacing back and forth in the living room, mostly to stretch his legs and back, sore from all the time he spent sitting down. Combeferre barely notices it when Jehan leaves his room to join him in the living room, curling up in a nest made of pillows and blankets on the couch.

He’s halfway through the last chapter of his anatomy and physiology textbook when he feels Jehan’s slender fingers curling gently around his wrist and prying his own off the book in his hands. Combeferre lifts his eyes up from the pages for what feels like the first time in hours. It probably is. Jehan is looking at him with an expression that is both of slight concern and unbridled affection. 

“Sit down here with me for a minute,” he says, pulling Combeferre towards the couch.

Combeferre complies, sitting down beside Jehan, book still open in his hands.

“I really have to finish reading this.”

“That’s okay,” Jehan replies, pulling Combeferre’s left hand towards himself, “Just stay still for a moment.”

He does. His focus, however, turns back entirely to his text book, and even though he can feel something tickling his skin he doesn’t move or turns to look. He doesn’t have to, he knows that Jehan is writing something on his arm. That’s nothing new, Jehan very often uses Combeferre’s skin as if it were a blank sheet of paper for him to write on.

It’s not until much later, when his alarm goes off and Jehan is sound asleep, curled up next to him, that he looks down at the messy scribbling on his arm.

_“Now we will count to twelve_

_and we will all keep still._

_This one time upon the earth,_

_let's not speak any language,_

_let's stop for one second,_

_and not move our arms so much.”_

Combeferre stares at the clock on his phone for a full minute before looking down at Jehan’s peaceful face, half-hidden by the blanket he’s holding so closely to himself. He sets his book down on the coffee table, and settles himself behind Jehan’s sleeping form, pulling him into his arms, curling up around him until their bodies are pressed together from head to toe.

It’s still too early for any morning sounds, and late enough that there’s barely any noise coming from the streets. The room is very quiet, and Combeferre can feel his thoughts quieting down along with his breathing. He buries his face in the soft strands of Jehan’s hair, and falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Jehan writes on Combeferre's arm is this beautiful piece by Pablo Neruda: [Keeping Quiet](http://www.onbeing.org/program/what-we-nurture/feature/keeping-quiet-pablo-neruda/336)


End file.
